


tutum te robore reddam

by InANonCriminalWay



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Canon, Rutting, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InANonCriminalWay/pseuds/InANonCriminalWay
Summary: Predictably, Robb is the first of them to present.No matter that Theon is far overdue for presenting and rumors swirl that those of House Tully are late presenters. It’s Robb Stark, for Drowned God’s sake. Absolutely no one should have been surprised that he’s first. He’salwaysfirst.For all the wild stories of feral, bloodthirsty, rutting Alphas they’ve been fed since childhood, it’s a rather tame experience. Things at Winterfell are rather peaceful and with no guests, Theon and Jon are allowed to sit at the breakfast table with the rest of the Starks.(The rest of the family, Robb would say, but well, this version of Robb only lives in his head, he doesn’t own it… at least not that much of it.)
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	tutum te robore reddam

**Author's Note:**

> tried to write smut and it ended up in soft cuddling

Predictably, Robb is the first of them to present. 

No matter that Theon is far overdue for presenting and rumors swirl that those of House Tully are late presenters. It’s Robb Stark, for Drowned God’s sake. Absolutely no one should have been surprised that he’s first. He’s _always_ first.

For all the wild stories of feral, bloodthirsty, rutting Alphas they’ve been fed since childhood, it’s a rather tame experience. Things at Winterfell are rather peaceful and with no guests, Theon and Jon are allowed to sit at the breakfast table with the rest of the Starks.

( _The rest of the family_ , Robb would say, but well, this version of Robb only lives in his head, he doesn’t own it… at least not that much of it.)

Robb is sat opposite him which is a little odd, he supposes, Robb normally insists on sitting next to him. His hair is a little wilder than normal, but he still looks refined. For a boy of ten and seven, Robb looks incredibly distinguished and grown. 

Theon is ten and nine and he’s been jovially reminded several times that he still has the looks of a petulant child. It’s not as if Theon has reason to look so grown, he might be a future-Lord, but he doubts his Father is going to bite the dust any time soon. The man is a bitter, stubborn shell of a man who will cling onto life for as long as his frail fingers will hold.

Besides, he doesn’t even know when he’ll be able to go home, let alone become the Lord of House Greyjoy. 

He’s been at Winterfell for ten years now which is why he’s more than comfortable doing simple things like asking the Maester to patch up any cuts he gets or asking one of the Starks (Lady Stark excluded, that woman has a stare ten winters long) to pass the sausages. He never would have when he first arrived, having not yet seen ten years. 

Though after today, he may revert back to that considering the consequences such a simple, unimportant action has. The words “Robb, could you pass me the sausages please?” are not ones anyone would expect meaning or trouble to be behind.

And yet when Robb goes to do so, he looks up and their eyes meet, and Theon feels the floor slip out from under him.

He swallows, his throat dry all of a sudden, “Uh, Robb…”

His words trail off as his mind spins all around, trying to process the bright red eyes staring back at him. They seem dark, somehow, as if he’s staring into a void. A possessive, dominant void that wants to consume him. 

(And that should be a lot more unnerving than it is.)

Robb, for his part, looks awfully conflicted. Theon can physically see him battle between his restraint and sheer lust, as his terror is threatening to take over. His knuckles are white, clutching his cutlery as he stares at Theon.

Theon stares back, trapped in his gaze. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to. 

It’s Arya that breaks whatever it is they’re doing, deciding to poke Robb in the cheek with her knife. It elicits the beginning of a growl from deep in Robb’s throat that he cuts off within half a second. 

“Robb,” Catelyn scolds within a millisecond. Robb’s head snaps to the side which finally lets Theon free. He watches as Catelyn’s eyes meet her son’s and her entire face changes, “ _Oh_.”

Everything happens in a flurry after that, Ned leads his oldest son, who appears to be in some kind of daze at this point, off to who knows where while Catelyn takes their youngest off presumably to give them _the talk_ which leaves just Theon, Jon, and Sansa at the table. They’re instructed to continue as if nothing happened which is a ridiculous idea. 

Sansa looks shaken to the core which is a large contrast to Jon who seems oddly unbothered by the situation. Theon, for his part, doesn’t remotely want to know what his face looks like.

He supposes he gets why Jon is so blasé about it all. There was no room for doubt as to how Robb was going to present, he’s Alpha through and through. He’s essentially a checklist for cliché Alpha traits: caring, dominant, protective.

If Robb wasn’t an Alpha, Theon would have had a lot of questions. It’s just… Theon didn’t exactly expect him to present at the bloody breakfast table for Drowned God’s sake.

Taking a leaf out of Arya’s book, Theon leans to his right to gently poke Sansa in the cheek, “Are you feeling alright, Sansa?”

Her entire body shakes when he does so, so much that he feels genuine concern for her. He’s not particularly close to Sansa, not like he is with Robb, but he still cares for her. His hands twist into a softer touch and he gently holds her shoulder. 

She visibly swallows as she reaches up to push her hair behind her shoulders, “I’m fine, Theon.”

If he wasn’t so shaken himself, he’d probably have retorted, _Just didn’t expect your brother to pop a knot at the breakfast table_ or something equally vulgar. 

Instead, he nods, “Just a little shaken up?”

“Yeah,” she admits in a quiet voice. She finally puts down her fork which she’s been gripping for however long. “It was rather unexpected.”

Jon snorts, “You can say that again.”

“Oh don’t,” Sansa says in a tone that’s nearing a whine, “He’s going to be so embarrassed about all of this tomorrow.”

Theon’s eyes go wide, “Drowned God, he will.”

“Well, we won’t hear about it tomorrow,” Jon says and takes a bite of his breakfast. “An Alpha’s rut lasts at least three days.”

Sansa makes a noise of discomfort, “Gods, don’t say that. I don’t want to think about it.”

If Jon wasn’t so polite, he’d probably have rolled his eyes. Theon certainly would have. 

Though he’s with Sansa on this one and not just because it puts him opposed to Jon; he really doesn’t want to think about Robb being in rut. It doesn’t make him uncomfortable, per se, instead, his entire body is thrumming, something rushing through his veins. His blood is warm, heart beating in his ears. Whenever he thinks about it, he wants to go to Robb and he doesn’t have a bloody clue why. 

“I’d be surprised if any of us wants to think about it,” Jon comments and Theon hates that he’s in agreement with him. “But there’s nothing to be done about it now. We just need to get on with our days as we were told to.”

-

Jon had said that as if it would be easy.

It’s not.

It’s really bloody not.

There’s no help in that Theon’s day tends to be entwined with Robb’s. They train together, have lessons together, and though Robb isn’t charged with taking care of the younger children as Theon often is, he tends to join him.

Thinking about it, he spends most of his day with Robb. It’s like they’re attached at the hip and they’ve been like that for as long as he can remember. Without Robb there next to him, he feels lost. It’s like a part of him is gone, he’s off-balance as is his left side is much lighter than his right.

He’s not exactly the best swordsman in Winterfell on his best days, but he’s atrocious for those three days. Jon bests him so easily that he stops on the second day to ask Theon if he’s japing him. 

Fuck, he wishes he was. He wishes he could laugh and tell Jon that he’s playing a big old joke, and that there isn’t a knot in his chest, pulling tighter every second he’s away from Robb.

“What’s wrong with you, Greyjoy?” Jon asks him on the second day once they’ve finished. “Are you really so bothered by Robb’s rut?”

He scowls feeling the rose tinge burn at his cheeks, “Of course not, I’m just not feeling well.”

It’s a lie and they both bloody know it.

Jon snorts, rolling his eyes. “What is it? Are you jealous?”

“No,” he snaps, his cheeks flushed red. He can feel how wide his eyes are. He must look a sight.

The problem is that he’s _not_ jealous. He knows jealousy, that green-eyed monster that consumes you. The cruel grasp of envy is one he’s used to, it’s one he’s met many times since arriving at Winterfell. If it wasn’t for the kindness Robb insisted on showing him, he’d have been lost to it within a year of his stay. 

There are many things about Robb that Theon is admittedly jealous of: his loving family, his security in his future, the ease in which he can lead. But this is not one of them. He’s always known Robb would be an Alpha and Theon’s never cared that much for secondary genders.

“You are,” Jon says as if he’s had some sort of epiphany. “You’re jealous. You’re jealous that he’s an Alpha.”

His entire body is rigid as he pushes past Jon to get anywhere that isn’t here, “You don’t know shit, Snow.”

Jon doesn’t follow him. It’s not at all surprising, he’s not his brother. Robb would have followed him; he’s a stubborn idiot who cares far too much for anyone and everyone. Robb would not have stopped until he knew what was wrong with Theon.

Even Theon would not have gone as far as Robb; he would have just gotten on with it and hope that it solves itself. Then again, Robb is the heir of Winterfell. He can afford to push. 

No matter how comfortable he feels at Winterfell, he’s not more than a hostage when it all comes down.

And does that thought make him feel even worse than he had before. Off-balance and teetering on the edge.

When his arrow misses the target entirely the next day, he decides that this is bloody ridiculous and determines to try and do something about it. He can’t continue on like this, not when Jon had him disarmed within a few seconds earlier.

The idea seems inviolable when he first sets off for Lord Stark’s solar, shoulders squared, and face iron. The walk seems to have a chilling effect on his blood so much so that a shiver runs down his spine as soon as he sees the door. 

He swallows. What was he thinking? He can’t possibly storm into that room and demand Lord Stark let him see Robb. He’s in rut for Drowned God’s sake. He should just turn around and go back to his room or something, he should not be-

“Is there someone outside of my door?”

_Shit_. How the hell can he tell that?”

“Um,” he says, “Yes?”

Lord Stark seems to ponder on that for a while which is probably around a second, two seconds at most, “Come in, Theon.”

Oh, if there was something he’d like to do less than going into that room, he’d do exactly that. But Lord Stark knows he’s there, he can’t run away with his tail between his legs no matter how much he wishes to.

With the composure of a convicted man walking to the gallows, he pushes the heavy wooden doors open and steps inside the room. 

“What do you need, lad?” Lord Stark asks and really, it doesn’t help how gentle he is. It’d be easier if Eddard Stark was a cruel, bitter man like his own Father. Before he can answer, Lord Stark speaks again, “It’s Robb, isn’t it?”

He stares. “Uh.”

Lord Stark smiles, “You’re not exactly subtle, lad. If he knew, Robb would be touched it’s affected you so much.”

“Oh,” he says, his quick wit leaving him for a better man. “I uh, it’s just uh, I, you know?”

He doubts there’s a single person in Westeros who knows and yet Lord Stark nods as if Theon has spoken words of wisdom and not just blundering of bullshit.

“The worst of it is past him,” Lord Stark tells him and Theon feels his entire body sag in relief. “Right now, he’s resting, but he should be back up and around tomorrow. He’s mostly coherent now.”

“Coherent?” he echoes and blinks. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Lord Stark eyes him for several seconds and all the rigidity that had just left his body returns under his piercing gaze. “It’s typically inadvisable for anyone besides his mate or a non-threatening Beta to enter his den currently, but I believe it may do him well to see you.”

Oh, and there goes the bloody floor again, pulled out from under him. “Uh.”

“You’re unpresented,” Lord Stark says matter of fact, which fair to him, it is, “And you grew up with him. The two of you are very close. I won’t dolly about and say that the past two days have been easy for him. It’d do him good to see a friendly face.”

“Are you sure, my Lord?” he asks, his voice barely above a croak.

“I had been considering sending someone to come and collect you to suggest it,” Lord Stark tells him and picks back up the quill he’d put down when Theon entered the room. “I don’t suppose you need directions to his rooms?”

“Not at all, My Lord. Uh, thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Stark shakes his head, a firm tone to his voice, “Don’t mention it.”

-

He doesn’t exactly run to Robb’s room, but it’s a damn close call. Each step he takes feels like a breath of fresh air and by the time he turns the corner to the corridor to Robb’s room, he’s never felt so alive.

Only a few people pass him as he goes, none more monumental than some servants and one of Sansa’s friends. He presumes they must be doing some kind of stitching today.

No one is in the corridor when he reaches it, not even Maester Luwin. Lord Stark’s words ring in his mind and he comes to a stop, face scrunching up. Did he plan this? Does that even matter? He shakes his head and breathes out.

He does actually run to Robb’s room from there. If it seems suspicious, well, there’s no one there to watch it. Bran and Rickon’s rooms are in this hallway, but they should be in lessons at this time. They can’t possibly hear him. 

If the door to Lord Stark’s solar felt like the entrance to the Seven Hells, the door to Robb’s room is like the gateway to all he’s ever wanted. He bites his lip in a desperate attempt to suppress a smile and knocks on the door.

There’s some commotion from the other side before he hears Robb ask, “Who is it?”

He blinks and near gapes. Robb’s voice is so dry and small. He swallows, “Uh, it’s me, Theon.”

“Theon?” Robb asks and oh, he could sing with how much life floods into his voice with just that word. “What are you doing here? No one’s meant to be here. If Father caught you here-”

“He told me to come,” he interrupts in a hurried tone. That shuts Robb up quite efficiently. He sighs, “He just… he said that you’ve uh had a rough go of it the past few days and he thought it might do you some good to see a friendly face and well, I’m unpresented so he thought it’d be safe.”

“Oh,” Robb says.

_Yeah,_ Theon thinks, “So uh, can I come in? You don’t have to say yes, I can just leave if you uh wa-”

He’s interrupted by the door swinging open, revealing a tired-looking Robb. His eyes are wild and his auburn locks are sticking to his forehead with sweat. 

“Theon,” he breathes and pulls him into his room with surprising strength. 

Stumbling a little as he finds his feet, he watches as Robb pushes his door shut and locks it with shaking hands. He finally lets himself smile, “Hey Stark.”

He’s manhandled into a hug, Robb pressing his face into Theon’s shoulder so hard he’s sure they might merge. Theon wraps his arms around the younger boy though not as tight as Robb’s arms are around him. No one’s ever held him so close.

Robb pulls back for a few seconds and then nuzzles the side of Theon’s neck. Theon stands still as a statue as Robb proceeds to do the same to the other side.

“ _Oh_ , you’re scenting me,” he realizes. Robb pulls away, stepping back with burning cheeks. “No, no, don’t be embarrassed, it’s okay.”

Robb’s eyes have more disbelief than Theon feels daily, “It’s not okay. You don’t have to lie to me, Theon.”

“I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms around his body. If he doesn’t acknowledge how cold they feel, then there’s nothing meaningful behind it. He’s just cold. He clears his throat, “You’re an Alpha now, Robb. Course you’re going to scent people. It’s what Alphas do, scent your territory and all that. It’s fine.”

“That doesn’t mean I get to just… do it without your permission,” Robb says and Theon just rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t bother me, Stark, really,” he says, staring straight at him until it looks like the other boy believes him. “Scent me all you want, I do not mind.”

Robb’s face scrunches up, “Is this an Ironborn thing?”

He huffs, “It’s a me thing.”

“Oh,” Robb says and Theon’s never seen him look more conflicted. “My Father really told you to come here?”

“Yes,” he says and decides not to acknowledge that Robb deliberately changed the subject. “So have the past couple of days been as bad as he said?”

“What do you think?” Robb asks and gestures wildly around his room. He takes that time to actually look around the room and it’s really not as bad as Robb’s tone implies. His sheets are certainly a mess, but that’s really all there is to it. “I’ve spent the fast two days out of my mind, and all that’s helped is…”

He trails off, eyes darting around the room. The only place they don’t land on is Theon.

“Relieving yourself?” he suggests helpfully. Robb huffs, but he nods. “Really, Stark, you don’t need to be embarrassed. Every boy our age has done it, and most girls too. It’s not as if I’ve never… relieved myself.”

“You’ve never done it with a knot on your cock!” Robb exclaims and oh, his face is flushed so much it matches his hair.

He takes a breath and then shrugs, “And I never will, but it can’t be that different.”

Robb’s face changes entirely, back to confusion. “You don’t know that.”

“Come on,” he says and braves to sit down on Robb’s bed. He perches just on the edge at the bottom. “I’m ten and nine years, Stark, I’m a Beta. I probably presented years ago and no one noticed.”

“Still,” Robb says, but the word is cut off by a yawn. Oh right, he’s meant to replenishing his energy. All this emotional whiplash he’s going through is most likely not helping with that.

“I don’t care either way,” he says firmly and then gestures to the bed, “You should rest, your Father said you need it.”

“I can’t just invite you into my chambers and fall asleep on you,” Robb protests though he moves to sit on his bed, wrapping a fur around himself.

“Who says so?” he asks and Robb glares at him, “Genuinely, Robb, I’m just happy you’re okay.”

That shuts him up for a few minutes before he speaks in a quieter voice, “Are we sure I’m the one out of my mind? You’d never have admitted anything like that if you were of sound mind.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

Robb grins, and Theon can really see the youth in his face, “I get this side of Theon Greyjoy all to myself, huh? No one else gets the emotional part of you.”

“And you won’t get it again if you don’t shut your clack,” he mutters though it doesn’t rid Robb of his smile. “Go on and fall asleep on me already.”

“Are you just going to sit there and watch?” Robb asks him and Theon shrugs. He really hadn’t thought this far ahead. Robb frowns, “At least come sit up with all the furs, or else you’ll freeze.”

His brow furrows, “I’m not going to freeze, Stark.”

“You could.”

“Couldn’t.”

“Could!”

“Robb, we’re indoors. This isn’t The Long Night. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be cold.”

He stares at Robb in disbelief for several seconds to let the words sink in, “We’re in Winterfell Robb, I’m always cold.”

“So you should come sit in the warmth,” Robb counters and pats the spot next to him. Theon continues to stare at him; if either of Robb’s parents knew what he was asking, they’d probably banish Theon or something, for spoiling their first-born or whatever. “Please, Theon.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, he licks his lips and squirms where he’s sat. “Are you asking as the future Lord of Winterfell?”

“No, I’m asking as your…” Robb trails off, eyes going wide. Theon can see him swallow from the other end of the bed. “Your friend.”

He breathes out, “Robb-”

“Theon, come on,” Robb interrupts, crossing his arms across his chest. “It’s not like anyone’s going to know. I doubt my Father would you let stay overnight. You can leave before anyone sees.”

“Fine,” he says and it feels impossible not to smile back a little at the bright grin that breaks out on Robb’s face. He shuffles up on the bed, trying not to think anything more about Robb not opining on Theon staying overnight.

Robb surprises him by pretty much just grabbing Theon and manhandling him into where he wants Theon to be. 

_Right,_ Theon thinks as he lets himself be moved, _his Alpha instincts are on high right now._

He doesn’t mention it to Robb, not after how embarrassed he was after he realized he’d scent-marked Theon. Instead, he turns to the side and smirks at his best friend, “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” Robb tells him and the confidence in his voice reverberates through Theon’s whole body. “Don’t lie and tell me you’re not more comfortable now.”

“Of course, I’m more comfortable now,” he mutters and Robb’s grin grows unbelievably larger. “So now I’m going to lay here next to you while you sleep.”

“You don’t have to,” Robb says, though he interrupts himself with a yawn. Theon raises his eyebrows as if to say _you just manhandled me into the bed next to you._ Robb frowns.

Theon bites his lip, “I’m happy to, really. You said it yourself, I’m comfortable.”

“Are you sure?” Robb asks, clearly unsure.

“I’m sure,” he says and Robb raises his eyebrows in question. “I am, Robb, promise.”

If Robb hadn’t just gone through his first rut, Theon is sure he’d argue more, but Robb yawns again and acquiesces. Theon watches him snuggle further down in the furs, turning on his side so he’s facing Theon. He’s smiling again.

He waits until Robb’s eyes are closed to smile back, feeling a lot laxer now he’s next to Robb. He’s not used to this fondness he’s feeling, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. It’s nice, really, soft and warm.

They lay next to each other for a while before he feels Robb move in his sleep and the next thing he knows, Robb is grabbing onto him, manhandling him again though this time, he’s asleep. Theon’s reaction is no different than before; he lets Robb move him until Robb’s sleepless form is happy.

At this point, they’re cuddling, and again, Theon finds that he doesn’t mind. He might even like it. 

-

After cuddling in Robb’s bed, Theon’s own bed is disappointing. It’s empty, cold, hard, and absent of a particular Stark. Still, he climbs into it, feeling much lighter than he has for the past few days. 

When he wakes up, all the weight is back. His body is a stone, shoulders pulled down by some invisible force. The moment he moves to get up, his stomach cramps so hard he curls up. The groan he lets out is involuntary. He drags himself over so his head is hanging over the side and he retches. The vomit he expects to come out is oddly absent. 

The curtain across the small window is moved so some light comes through and he glares at it. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t move just because Theon wants it to. It’s too bright and his head is burning. 

He stumbles out of the bed, barely able to keep his balance. His shoulder hits the wall at one point as he dresses, but the more he continues on with his daily routine, the easier it is to ignore.

His hands are only marginally shaking when he finally gets to the breakfast table. Robb is finally back with them and the discomfort washes off his face as soon as Theon comes to sit next to him. The grin on his face disappears as soon as it had appeared when Theon slides into the seat.

“You okay?” he asks. Theon looks at him and wonders if he’s reading too far into it when he thinks it looks like Robb is itching to touch him. 

He has to be.

“I’m good,” he tells Robb, shocked at how level his voice comes out. “Just not feeling too well.”

Robb looks like he’s about to protest, but then Arya and Bran run in, yelling up a fuss. They’re followed a few moments later by Rickon, and then finally their wet nurse who apologizes profusely to Lord Stark who just laughs it off. By then, Robb is smiling so much Theon is sure it could cure whatever he’s coming down with. 

After that, their day goes almost exactly as it had before Robb had presented. The only real difference Theon notices is a bit more brute strength from Robb while sword-fighting and some of the girls around Winterfell more overtly flirting with Robb.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything even when Jeyne Poole stumbles over her words when the two of them run into her and Sansa in the hall.

The only other difference is Robb being even more tactile than he was before. What would have been light touches have become one-armed hugs, and one-armed hugs have become full hugs. 

Theon’s awful with a sword again, his balance completely off. Jon’s back to finding it amusing rather than worrying, especially when Theon’s sword clatters to the ground within five seconds of them beginning to spar. 

Ser Rodrik gives him a concerned look when he passes his sword back, murmuring “You need to rest, lad.”

When he meets Robb after, the younger boy grips the back of his neck. Theon freezes for half a second before he relaxes and just lets it happen. Robb’s an Alpha now, he’s going to do stuff like this. 

It’s odd, but he likes it and it’s nice to have Robb back by his side for most of the day. Today, Robb sticks to his side the entire day and if anyone has a problem with it, they don’t speak up. 

Not that he was expecting anyone to. There are few people in Winterfell who would be comfortable challenging the heir to the place. Besides Robb is such a kind man that Theon doubts anyone wants anything but the best for him. 

One of the few memories Theon has of Pyke and his family is when Maron had presented Alpha. He’d been too young when Rodrik had to remember much besides asking where their brother had gone and Maron pushing him into the ground. He remembers Maron’s presentation though. It had been just before his Father’s rebellion before his brothers had left and never returned.

His brothers had never been particularly kind before then or if they were, Theon had never been on the receiving end. After his Father had proudly declared that for a second time, one of his sons had presented Alpha, Maron had become insufferable. He was cruel and dominating, demanding anything he wanted and not being afraid to use violence to get what he wanted. He’d violated many a woman and though Asha had tried to reassure him by saying it was the Ironborn way, Theon had always felt awful about it.

Balon Greyjoy did not appreciate Theon’s feelings which had come to a head when he’d found Theon trying to comfort an Omega boy from Harlaw that Maron had fucked so hard he was bleeding. Even as a boy of eight, Theon had understood what had happened, mostly due to Maron and Rodrik deciding Theon should know all about it by the time he’d seen six years. He’s sure now that his attempts weren’t as comforting as he’d hoped, especially when Balon had stormed in and dragged his son away by his hair. 

His Father had been an Alpha as well and he’d been so angry, his eyes were flashing red. Theon had never been hit so hard and it’s yet to be topped. He’d worn a bruise on his cheeks for weeks after and he still has a small scar behind one ear from the beating he’d received. 

He’d learned that day that Alphas were meant to be violent, they were meant to be aggressive and cruel, meant to just take what they wanted without regard for the consequences. 

Lord Stark’s gentle but firm manner had confused him much when Theon had first arrived in Winterfell. He wouldn’t have believed he was an Alpha if he hadn’t seen his eyes flash red. Lord Stark had spent several days staring at Theon as if he wanted to ask something for every averse reaction he’d had. 

In hindsight, Ned Stark wanted to ask him if Theon had expected to have been hit every time he made too much noise. The answer would have been yes though Theon had learned how to hide his reactions much better since those early days.

He’s yet to have come into contact with any other Alphas besides fleeting interactions with some of the Bannermen so there’s still a part of Theon that believes Alphas are all that his family had taught him they were.

Or so he had believed until Robb. 

The Stark heir had broken every expectation Theon had had. He’s still Robb, still the kind, sweet boy who had forced friendship upon a lonely, terrified young Theon when he’d first arrived. 

There are moments where he can see Robb has an instinct to be dominating, to demand obedience, but Robb never acts on it.

He’s not sure Robb could be cruel if he tried to. 

Theon’s no stranger to strangers in Winterfell despising his existence, being the son of a failed renegade and all, but he doubts there’s anyone familiar or unfamiliar in Winterfell who could harbor malicious thoughts towards Robb.

The next few days follow a similar pattern, Theon doesn’t feel any better, but he’s able to ignore it. Robb has to part from his side more than the first day, but he still seems insistent on being next to him as often as possible and more often than not, touching him in some way. The cramps are worse at night and he wakes each day with more circles under his eyes.

It’s on the fourth day when he wakes with every inch of his body coated in sweat. He’s burning up from the inside. He throws his furs off his bed in a haste, the soft texture feeling more like needles on his skin. The bed below is drenched with sweat.

At the same time he wants to rip off his nightshirt, he wants to wrap his arms around himself and burrow under everything. The cramps are gone and yet replaced by a burning feeling in his stomach. He feels empty.

He doesn’t dare move from his spot though he’s not sure why exactly. His mind is in a haze.

A knock at his door shocks him so that he lets out a squeak. He flushes somehow redder and calls out, “Yes?”

“Lord Greyjoy?” the knocker asks and it takes Theon several seconds to place the voice to be Maester Luwin. He swallows, unsure as to why he’d be at his door. “Are you well?”

“I’m-” He cuts himself off before he can insist he’s fine. He’s very clearly not and Maester is at his door. He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and replies, “No. I uh I think something is wrong.”

Maester Luwin is quiet for a few moments before he asks, “Are you able to come to the door?”

_No,_ he thinks immediately and then blinks, “Yes?”

He moves to the door at a snail’s pace, ears straining to make out any of the voices from outside of his room. He can’t place anything, his mind too hazy to remember how to walk properly. Pained cries are building in his throat every other step.

By the time he’s made it to the door, he’s managed to sweat so much his hair is drenched. He wipes his forehead, pushes his hair out of his eyes, and drags his door open.

Presumably, Maester Luwin is at his door though Theon doesn’t see him. 

His eyes lock on auburn hair and then with bright red eyes, “Robb.”

“Theon,” Robb answers immediately, pushing forward so he can wrap strong arms around him. “Theon.”

He shivers and grasps onto Robb’s form. The closer he gets, the less his stomach burns. He repeats, “Robb.”

Robb is staring down at him and his eyes are a dark red. His mind scrambles trying to figure out what the hell is happening as a growl escapes Robb, “Mine.”

“Yours,” he murmurs and his brow furrows. _What_ did he just say? 

The next second, Robb is pulled off of him and he keens. Robb is growling, trying to get to him and he’s pushing whoever is holding him, trying to get to Robb. He _needs_ to be with Robb.

His door shuts with a resounding bang and he blinks and then screws his eyes shut. When he opens them again, the burning pain is back but he manages to focus on the room enough to see Maester Luwin standing against his door.

He falters, “What…”

Maester Luwin regards him before speaking in a slow, soft voice, “You’ve presented Omega, Lord Greyjoy. What you’re experiencing is the phantom heat that follows presentation.”

“ _What?_ ”

The Maester has the patience to repeat the two sentences another three times before they finally break past his thick skull membrane and take a seat in the center of his mind.

A sinking feeling settles deep in his stomach. He’d known the day that he’d arrived his first letter from back home, one declaring Asha to have presented as an Alpha, that his Father would never be proud of him if he didn’t follow suit. He’s never acknowledged it really, never dared say it out loud, but he’d known he’d never be welcome back home if he was a Beta. 

And now he’s an Omega. Omegas can’t inherit, they can’t become hedge nights, they’re heavily discouraged from Taking the Black. They’re discouraged even from working. Most Omegas end up harlots. Back home, noble Omega men don’t get to be Lord, they’re called Lady. Most Omegas back home were saltwives of the cruelest Alphas. He knows many southern areas treat them similarly, apart from Dorne. 

Rumors have it that many Omega men are forced to wear dresses and grow their hair out until they’re indistinguishable from women. Darker rumors have their cocks cut out and sent to their Fathers. 

The North has more respect for Omegas, he knows that much. Both Arya’s and Rickon’s wet nurses had been Omegas and he knows Lord Stark has never turned someone away for it. Lady Stark is a Beta, but he’s sure Sansa will present Omegan. It’s not a curse to be Omegan here, he knows that.

He’d never have shown malice towards Omegas, but he’d never expected to be an Omega himself. He’s meant to be a Beta. The doubt is enough that he asks, “Are you sure?” 

Maester Luwin’s face doesn’t tell anything as to what he’s thinking. “Your eyes are ringed with gold, Lord Greyjoy.”

_Oh._ There’s no question then. He swallows, “Is that why I’ve felt unwell?”

“It is,” Maester Luwin confirms, “Your internal system has been rearranging itself in preparation for your presentation, it is to allow you to comfortably carry and deliver a child.”

He falls down onto the bed, legs like jelly. “Why did I… what just happened with, with, with Robb?”

The bed is still damp, he notes miserably. 

The question seems to throw Maester Luwin for a second before he takes a measured breath, “As you know, the Young Lord Stark is a recently presented Alpha. It appears that as a pair, you are quite… compatible.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he says and stares down at his hands. They should be touching Robb, they need to be wrapped around his body. He wraps his arms around himself instead, “How long will _this_ last?”

“The typical period is a day,” Maester Luwin tells him and Theon’s nails dig into his skin. “It can last up to two days.”

“Two days?” he echoes and he feels one of his nails break skin. Warmblood trickles out and down his arm.

Before Maester Luwin can respond, they’re interrupted by a knock on the door. Theon jumps and scrambles to hold onto the side of his bed, sure his knuckles must be white within a few seconds. 

“You can come in,” Maester Luwin says and moves from the door. Theon’s heart is pounding in his head as his door cracks open to reveal Lord Stark and oh no, _oh no_.

Then a scent hits him and he leans forward, eyes widening as he sees red hair behind Lord Stark. He swallows, using all of his control to stay where he is. He’s a hostage here, he can’t risk his head by bonding the first-born son. 

Robb’s the heir to Winterfell, he can’t bond to Theon and he wouldn’t want to, would he? It has to just be the flux of scents and the… _compatibility._

“Theon,” Lord Stark says and his voice is so gentle. Theon blinks and risks looking up to meet his eyes. 

“Lord Stark,” he says and his voice is so scratchy, he flinches at it himself. A half growl comes from behind Lord Stark.

“This is an unexpected turn of events,” Lord Stark says and all Theon can do is stare. Yeah, it really bloody is. “After careful consideration, I believe the best course of action would be for Robb to stay with you for the rest of the phantom heat.”

“Uh,” he says, “What?”

Lord Stark repeats it again in a calm, patient voice and adds, “This would be on the condition that neither of you initiates a bond.”

His grip on the bed loosens ever so slightly as the words wash over him. Not trusting his voice, he nods though he can’t bring himself to look Lord Stark in the eye.

“Robb has already agreed to this,” Lord Stark says and his voice takes a firm tone that has Theon’s head snapping up. “I need to know that you are okay with this, Theon. You are not obligated to agree, if you are uncomfortable with this prospect, you can say so. If you want, you can stay alone and we can post a guard outside your room for the next day and we’ll have someone bring food to you. It’s up to you.”

“I’m okay with it,” he says before he thinks too much and talks himself out of it. He bites his lip so he doesn’t blurt out _please_.

“Okay,” Lord Stark says, “The door will stay locked at all times other than when you are brought food. We will have a beta guard at the door who will knock twice when that happens. Are you sure, Theon?”

He falters. Is he not meant to be? Because he is, he’s very sure and he’s very okay with it. He’d rather go to the Seven Hells than spend another moment without Robb with him. 

“I am,” he says as firmly as he can. 

Lord Stark nods, “Then Maester Luwin and I will leave you alone. Within the hour, there’ll be a guard at the door to be secure. And again, that is not up for discussion, Robb.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up inside of him that he just manages to push down as he forces himself to nod.

For a few moments, nothing happens and then in the next second, his door is slamming shut and he’s being tackled on the bed by a feral looking Robb.

He stares at Robb as his best friend pins his hands to the bed. He blinks, “Uh, Robb. There’s no need to uh _pin me down_. I’m not going to move.”

Robb’s face scrunches up and then Theon’s hands are free and Robb is moving to sit up so he’s straddling Theon and Drowned God does he not miss the implication. He does miss the feeling of Robb’s hands over him and the closeness they’d had for a few seconds. 

“Oh Gods, I’m so sorry, Theon,” Robb blurts out, the red bleeding out of his eyes. He looks terrified. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He schools his face into the flattest look he can muster, “I think we know what came over you, what came over us both.”

The embarrassment is back and Robb’s face flushes red, “Theon, I just tackled you to the bed, why are you not upset?”

As he shrugs in response, he realizes he hasn’t moved his hands from where Robb put them and that he really doesn’t want to, “What would you say if I said that I’d wanted you to do that since you presented and possibly before?”

“That I’d feel a lot less guilty about not being able to think about anything other than you during my rut,” Robb admits in a quiet voice. He feels his eyes widen and a dark look replaces the embarrassment on Robb’s face. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to push you down and fuck you until you could feel me for days, how much I wanted to kiss you so hard your lips would bleed, how I needed to put my mark on your neck so everyone knew that no one gets to touch you apart from me.”

“Drowned God, Robb,” he murmurs and Robb smirks, clearly very pleased with himself. He moves forward and glances down very deliberately at Theon’s cock. He croaks, “That’s not fair, Robb, you heard your Father, we can’t do anything.”

Robb raises an eyebrow and then leans forward so all Theon can see is him, “Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you or… _relieve you_?”

His breath catches in his throat, “ _Robb_.”

“I love how you say my name,” Robb tells him, leaning forward even more until their lips are basically touching. Theon still hasn’t moved his hands, but he’s grasping at the sheets. “You know, you look so pretty like this.”

“I’m not-”

“You are,” Robb interrupts and Theon closes his mouth. Robb grins, “You’d really do anything I say, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” he protests immediately and Robb just raises a brow. He huffs, “Fine, but I’d complain about it the whole time.”

“I’m quite sure the only thing you’ll be able to say is my name,” Robb tells him and where in the Seven bloody Hells did Robb learn to talk like this? 

“Drowned God, Stark,” he breathes, “If you’re going to keep this up, your Father has no worry for us mating since you’ll have killed me before the day is over.”

Robb smirks, “Is there anything that will ever get rid of that attitude of yours?”

“You’re stuck with that,” he tells Robb though his attempt at a joking tone becomes breathless halfway through the sentence. “So are you ever going to kiss me or are you just going to talk-”

He’s not sure what he was expecting from the kiss that Robb interrupts him with. He’d always pegged Robb as the kind who calls it making love and that any kisses he’d give would be gentle and soft, full of love and passion.

The kiss is certainly full of love and passion, but gentle it is not. Robb kisses him like he’s claiming him, like he wants to consume Theon with his lips, dominating and demanding. Theon surrenders himself to it almost immediately. He finally moves his hands so he can grasp onto Robb’s tunic. 

Theon’s panting when Robb pulls away looking entirely too pleased with himself. He licks his lips, letting his tongue trail slowly across his bottom lip, and murmurs, “Don’t think they’re bleeding yet.”

It elicits a growl from deep within Robb’s chest and Theon shivers. Robb leans back slightly and his hands play with the edge of Theon’s sleepshirt, “And I’m the one killing you, huh?”

He smirks, “Couldn’t let you have the upper hand for too long, Stark.”

It’s very clearly a challenge, but Drowned God did he not expect Robb to answer it by ripping Theon’s shirt down the middle, exposing his bare chest. He gapes at Robb as his grip on Robb’s tunic tightens. A small whine escapes him when a cold breeze brushes over his nipples.

“I never thought I’d get to see you like this,” Robb murmurs, and his hand trails across Theon’s chest. He watches Robb’s hand with rapt eyes as it hovers just above his left nipple. “Let alone do any of it.”

And with that, Robb takes Theon’s nipple in his mouth. He keens, arching up into it as he lets out a string of curse words. Robb’s teeth scrape the sensitive skin and Drowned God, where was Robb hiding all of this? His eyes fall closed, all he knows is Robb. 

“You’re beautiful,” Robb murmurs, and his voice is so earnest that Theon finds himself believing it. He lays there, boneless, smiling up at Robb. “I’m never letting you go.”

Theon leans up to press his lips softly to Robb’s, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Stark.”

“I intend to keep that promise and to keep you,” Robb tells him firmly and one hand moves down to thread his fingers with Theon’s. “Father isn’t opposed to us bonding and even if he was, it wouldn’t stop me.”

He can’t help the responding whine that escapes him. His voice is breathless, “He’s not opposed?”

Robb grins and grips his hand tighter. The other hand comes up to cup the side of his head. “No, he’s all for it. It’s your Father he’s concerned about.”

The floor drops from under him as it floods back. “He’s never going to agree to it. He’d never-”

“Then we’ll bond anyway and he’ll have to agree,” Robb tells him, and Theon whimpers. If only it was so simple.

“He’s probably going to disown me,” he murmurs, feeling tears prick at his eyes. Robb brushes it away and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “He expected me to be an Alpha like Rodrik and Maron and Asha. He won’t accept an Omega son. He’s going to disinherit me, Robb.”

In the most gentle way, Robb moves them so Theon is sat with his back to Robb’s chest, with Robb’s arms enveloping him. He’s never felt safer.

“It’ll be okay,” Robb tells him in a whisper and presses a kiss to the back of Theon’s neck. “If he’d disinherit you for that, he doesn’t deserve to have you as his son.”

He whimpers and his head lolls back so it’s on Robb’s shoulders, “You’re the heir to Winterfell, Robb, you can’t bond with some no-name, disinherited Omega.”

“I can bond with whoever I bloody want to,” Robb growls, arms tightening around Theon. “You’re my Omega, Theon. I won’t ever let anyone separate us. I’d conquer all of Westeros to lay it down at your feet if you so asked.”

“Fuck, Stark,” he says, cherishing in the growl he gets in response. “I don’t deserve you or this.” 

“You do,” Robb says, his voice near a growl. Theon shivers. “Father has already sent a raven to Pyke. I refuse to let you go even if he refuses. You’re mine.”

He whimpers, “Yes, yours, _yours_.”

Robb smiles against his skin, “As I am yours.”


End file.
